


The Body Snatchers (or How the Master finally got inside the Doctor's body)

by aralias



Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Bodyswap, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-17
Updated: 2011-04-17
Packaged: 2017-10-18 06:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wacky body swap fic. Featuring some plot, and quite a lot of sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Body Snatchers (or How the Master finally got inside the Doctor's body)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Похитители тел (или Как Мастер все-таки проник в тело Доктора)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10384767) by [Kollega](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kollega/pseuds/Kollega)



What had happened was completely, totally, absolutely, and in all ways the Master’s fault. Which, the Doctor supposed, given recent events, meant it was now completely and totally _his_ fault.

He’d always operated under the belief that the Master planned his schemes. Admittedly things could get out of hand, and the Doctor would have to explain to him that the Autons weren’t as likely to let him stay in charge as he’d counted on, but there was always that element of ‘counted on’ that made it look like the Master had planned and that plan had failed. It was now clear that the Master worked in the same free-range style the Doctor did: land somewhere, look around, and then (this was where they differed) try to subjugate it to his will/rescue it from villains like the Master.

If the Master had done his research about the planet he’d most recently tried to conquer he would have known about the large purple crystals that had landed them in this predicament. He would not have locked the Doctor in this crystal lined room, and then come in to gloat. Unless it had been part of his plan to fall over, fall asleep and wake up chained to the wall in the Doctor’s body, but that was not, the Doctor thought, very likely. It was possible, though. The Master did have a history of body snatching: the body the Doctor was currently inhabiting (because, yes, of course, it had worked the other way and he was now dark, mysterious and technically in charge of the entire planet) had previous belonged to Tremas of Traken. It was perhaps this that made the Doctor most angry, or rather would, when he was able to think clearly. The Master had (admittedly inadvertently) made the Doctor complicit in his crime. Of course, he’d felt around in his memory once he’d realised where he was, but there was no sign of Nyssa’s father. Worst of all, in the current circumstances, the Doctor couldn’t help but feel relief at this discovery. If there had been a sign of the body’s rightful owner, he would have been compelled to give it back.

His own body had been rescued by his companions about ten minutes ago. Both Time Lords had been too woozy to really protest as the door had been flung open or even when Tegan had unlocked the chains and hauled the Master to the Doctor’s feet. The Doctor _had_ gathered himself enough to gasp, “No, that’s not-” as they began to leave, but Turlough had waved a sword at him in such a threatening manner that he’d decided to give the explanation up as a bad job. The sound of his TARDIS dematerialising had followed a few moments later. Tegan’s driving lessons must finally have paid off. How typical.

Since then all he’d done was lean heavily against the wall, running the phrase _I am the Master_ over and over in his mind until it didn’t seem so awful and trying to get the feeling back in the Master’s fingers. Unfortunately the feeling was now back and it was time to get up and deal with the Master’s latest mistake. The Doctor staggered into an upright position and began to hammer on the door of his former/still current cell, which Tegan and Turlough had thoughtfully locked behind them. “Hello?” he shouted. “Is anyone there? Could somebody, please, let me out? I am the Master, and,” oh well, he thought, when in Rome, “you will obey me.”

*

The Doctor’s companions had left the Master to recover in a wicker chair in the console room. Tegan Jovanka had even brought him a cup of tea before she left to do whatever she did in the TARDIS when the Doctor wasn’t around. Once he’d recovered slightly, the Master had made the mistake of attempting to drink the tea, before realising it had been made for the Doctor and was therefore more sugar than water. The Doctor’s body didn’t mind, of course, but it would learn.

The Master began to laugh, and found to his surprise that the Doctor’s vocal chords could manage a relatively convincing chuckle. He hadn’t heard this Doctor laugh, but apparently he was capable of it. Good. The Master intended to spend a lot more time like this, and clearly a lot of things in his imminent future were going to be funny: Miss Jovanka’s dress sense, for example, or the Doctor’s 500 year diary. It was a shame that the Doctor himself was trapped in a body that would wither and die within the next hundred years. Indeed the Master expected to feel sincere regret when the Doctor inevitably passed away, unwilling to steal another form as anyone sensible would have done, but for now he was delighted. Let the Doctor keep the planet; he had another eight regenerations to burn through.

He pushed himself out of the wicker chair, and went to explore his new TARDIS. At least, he attempted to explore. A white door had slid out of the wall after Miss Jovanka, shutting the console room off from the rest of the ship. There were no obvious controls around the area, so the Master returned unsteadily to the console. He pulled what he knew to be the internal door control. Nothing happened. He moved over to the main computer terminal, and tried to access the control programme, but it too failed to respond. It was possible the ship was more broken than he’d imagined, but the more likely explanation was that the Doctor’s TARDIS knew who he was.

“Now you listen to me,” the Master told it softly, “the Doctor may have tolerated your insubordination, but I will do no such thing. If you refuse to cooperate I will be forced to remove all of your circuit boards and make myself a new toaster from the debris. Now, I am going to pull the door lever and you will open the door.”

He pulled the lever, and the Doctor’s TARDIS electrocuted him.

*

Meanwhile the Doctor was having trouble convincing the Master’s new Jawa-like people to give him a bit of alone time. They were devoted to him. Any plans the Doctor had had about explaining the switch and asking for help in reversing it were quickly shelved when he saw how much they venerated the Master and his opinions. Almost as soon as he was out of the cell, the questions from his anxious subjects began. What did the Doctor think they should do about the sewage system? How should they go about rebuilding the economy? What should be served for dinner tonight (not to him, just in their own homes)? Initially he tried to convince them that they could make up their own minds (particularly about the last one), but this seemed to make everyone uncomfortable. He had, after all, told them what to do before.

Many hours later, having OK-ed a new system of drainage tunnels beneath the city, sat through a long meeting with his financial advisor, suggested sandwiches for dinner, and explained what exactly a sandwich was, the Doctor snapped and told everyone to go away. Fortunately, they seemed quite happy to do this. It was obviously the kind of thing they expected from the Master.

He found the Master’s TARDIS disguised as an attractive wardrobe in the room the Master pretended was his bedroom. It was locked, but after a moment’s frustration, the Doctor remembered that the key would be on the Master, and since he currently was the Master that wouldn’t be a problem.

The Master’s console room greeted him warmly, but not without reserve, like a landlady admitting a wanted criminal. She politely informed him that the navigation systems were out of bounds, but was willing to show him to a guest room where a magnificent set of guest towels were laid out on the bed. This reminded the Doctor that tomorrow he would almost certainly have to shower, which would almost certainly involve touching bits of the Master he hadn’t expected he would ever have to touch, but, for now, that seemed a comfortingly long way off. The TARDIS had provided a selection of books for him to read, and (perhaps it had been listening earlier) a plate of sandwiches. The Doctor went to sleep with his clothes on.

*

The Master had also slept in his clothes, having abandoned his attempts to rewire the Doctor’s infernal machine after about the sixth shock. He was tired and cross when he woke in what passed for the morning, but alert enough that when Miss Jovanka (in bright blue pyjamas, and vertical hair) wandered in he was ready to jam the Doctor’s hat stand into the door before it closed.

“Having TARDIS troubles, Doc?” Tegan called after him as he climbed over it and out into the corridor.

Strangely all the doors further on were open to him. It was as if he had passed some sort of test, or, the Master thought warily, as if the ship was luring him into some sort of trap.

After a while he found a bathroom, and stripped off the Doctor’s many layers of clothes, which had become distinctly grimy during his stay in the cell. Beneath them, the Doctor’s skin was paler, even, than he had imagined, and dotted with freckles. Fortunately, the Doctor’s body wasn’t at all attracted to itself, and the Master found he could observe it without physical reaction. He wasn’t going to become distractingly aroused every time he looked in a mirror, then. That was good to know.

Prompted by this thought, he leant over the bathroom sink to examine the way the Doctor’s face moved in the mirror. He peered closely at the Doctor’s cheeks, but there was no sign of morning stubble. Clearly there was going to be no beard. The Doctor’s malleable features rearranged themselves into a familiar expression of disappointment, and the Master snapped, “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” before he remembered who he was talking to and started laughing.

Behind him the door was opened by Vislor Turlough. The Master swung round, feeling the Doctor’s blond hair swish around his face.

“I am so sorry, Doctor,” Turlough said as he pulled the door shut again. “I didn’t know anyone was in here,” he continued from behind the closed door. “I’ll just… go,” and he tailed off, but the Master had seen the boy’s eyes flick downwards before he had managed to make his escape.

“Most amusing,” he told the TARDIS. It had obviously released the door lock on purpose, but aside from embarrassment he didn’t feel, what was the point of showing him that the Doctor’s boy companion was interested in what was normally concealed beneath the Doctor’s trousers? The Doctor wasn’t interested – that much was obvious to a man who inhabited his body.

When he stepped out of the shower (which had oscillated between too hot and too cold to keep him on his toes) he found a fresh set of clothes hanging on the door. There was even a fresh stick of celery attached to the new coat’s lapel. The Master had never really wondered why the Doctor had adopted this particular fashion statement (he was, after all, a little bit mad, like all the best people), but looking at it now he was reminded where the Doctor had got his first button-hole.

Decisively, the Master pulled the vegetable away from the coat, and flung it behind him. If the celery was a reminder of Castrovalva he certainly didn’t want it. All his plans would work from now on. But first - he needed his own ship back.

*

To his dismay, the Doctor found he was quite good at ruling a planet. Everyone seemed to like his decrees, and he could see that the new schools he’d decided to open and the bartering system he’d imposed were really going to make people’s lives better. Sometimes he thought he ought to go back to Gallifrey and hand himself in to the proper authorities. He hadn’t heard any reports about misrule under Flavia (yet) but there was now no doubt that he would prove a more competent president of Gallifrey than any there had been during his lifetime. It was a worrying thought.

When he wasn’t ruling wisely and well (but unhappily), he was in the city library, sitting in a chair he’d had specially made for his longer limbs, trying to work out how to reverse what had been done to him without appearing too obviously interested in the subject. The Master’s leather gloves made page turning quite difficult, but the Doctor found it difficult to remain in character without them. The Master was the sort of man who kept his fingerprints to himself and stubbornly persevered with leather gloves even in a universe where most things were operated via touch screens. Sometimes, as his eyes drifted away from the tedious history books and onto the gloved hands that held them, the Doctor found himself wondering whether the Master kept his gloves on for everything. Which was an even more worrying thought than the president thing.

*

Even together, Tegan and Turlough were not very good at flying the TARDIS.

“All you have to do,” the Master explained carefully, having made up some excuse about returning to catch ‘the Master’ in the middle of his dastardly plan, “is press the fast return switch.”

“Well, which one’s that?” Tegan asked, hand on head in a comical representation of confusion. “We’ve only done take-off and landing.”

“It’s this one,” the Master said, indicating a bright red switch that in his own ship was linked to the fast return circuits.

“Right,” Tegan said and flicked it, as Turlough said, “I thought you said that was the gravity control.” He was proved right almost immediately, and the fall back to the ground once Tegan had flicked the switch again really hurt.

“Actually I’m almost certain this is it,” Turlough said and pulled a lever under the console. This time he was proved wrong, almost as quickly. The TARDIS began to vibrate wildly, and they all grabbed for the shuddering console.

“It’s going to tear us apart!” Tegan yelled.

“Doctor, do something!” Turlough shouted.

The Master gave him an especially sour look – because it had been _his_ fault, not because he had been ogling the Doctor earlier. “You’ll just have to land,” he told Tegan firmly. “You do remember how to do that?” Fortunately neither of them asked why he didn’t just do it himself: presumably teaching people by forcing them to do things they didn’t want to do and which you could do much better in half the time was something the Doctor did on a regular basis. Even more fortunately Tegan remembered how to correctly land the TARDIS, and they materialised safely. They had not, however, returned to their last location.

Initially the Master allowed himself to hope he’d simply landed on a different part of the planet. By the time Turlough had been captured and Tegan had become a member of the resistance, it was obvious they hadn’t. Because he needed them to pilot the TARDIS, the Master went out of his way to rescue them both. In the course of events he also managed to overthrow the occupying government. It was tempting to fill the power vacuum, but the planet was disgustingly primitive and he knew he could do better.

*

“Oh no,” the Doctor murmured. He had, in fact, begun to suspect the truth about a page ago, but had read on just in case he was mistaken. Now there was no getting away from it. The answer was there in black and white. The Doctor drummed the Master’s gloved fingers against the table, and thought about how much he wanted his body back. In fact, how he’d better call the Master right away and get on with it.

*

The Master had begun to despair of ever getting back to his TARDIS. He’d fought off the Axons, the Cybermen, the Daleks (twice), and a couple of yeti, had liberated another two planets, exposed a conspiracy, and had had dinner with Brigadier Sir Alistair Lethbridge Stewart and his wife, which had been excruciating. Worst of all, he was beginning to miss the Doctor quite acutely. There was nothing like being surrounded by a person’s possessions, living in their home, hearing their name constantly and being confronted by their features in reflective surfaces to really ensure they were in your thoughts at all possible moments. He had everything of the Doctor, except the man himself.

For all these reasons the Master was extremely pleased when his face (that is to say, his own face currently belonging to the Doctor) appeared on the TARDIS scanner.

“We need to talk,” the Doctor said, and the Master was surprised to hear how commanding his own voice sounded. He was even more surprised at the way the Doctor’s body responded to the sound of that voice i.e. in almost exactly the way it hadn’t responded to its own nudity, or Vislor Turlough. How intriguing. Then again perhaps it was just his mind responding to the Doctor behind the sound. He wondered if his own body was reacting to the Doctor’s presence in the way it usually did, or whether the Doctor had better control than that.

“I want my body back,” the Doctor said in the same interesting tone. “I’m sure you’re enjoying making a nuisance of yourself around the cosmos without taking any of the responsibility, but it’s gone far enough. You have to return.”

“And what if I refuse?” the Master drawled, though he had no intention of doing so.

“Then I will have no choice but to report you to the Time Lords,” the Doctor told him. “I’m sure they’ll be very interested in catching up with you, and since I know the exact ident of my TARDIS, it should be very easy for them to do so.”

“Running to the authorities, Doctor?” The Master shook his head. “You won’t do it. They’ll undoubtedly try and bestow the presidency on you and we both know how little you want that.”

The Doctor glowered at him. “Just get back here.”

“I have been trying to, in fact,” the Master told him, ignoring the way the Doctor’s hearts had started to beat faster, “but your wretched ship refuses to take my commands.”

“Really?” The Doctor managed to cram an expression of regret and concern onto the Master’s features, and for a moment he looked exactly like himself despite the beard. “I’m sorry. Yours has been very polite. I’ll talk to her.” His image vanished, and the TARDIS began to dematerialise. Whatever the Doctor had said to it had clearly had its effect, because when the Master went to take a shower it was cold, just as he had requested.

*

With a loud wheezing, groaning noise, the Doctor’s beloved blue police box heaved itself into existence in front of him. The Doctor patted its doors. “Hello again, old girl.”

He stepped away as they opened and the Master backed out, assuring Tegan and Turlough that everything was fine. He just needed to talk to the Master for a moment. The Doctor heard Turlough say, “Why is he fondling the TARDIS?” before the Master managed to lock the doors behind him.

“That won’t keep them in,” the Doctor pointed out, “but they shouldn’t find anything too dangerous out here. This planet has become quite a haven, if I do say so myself, though I can’t deny I’ll be glad to leave it.”

“What makes you think you’ll escape with your life?” the Master asked.

“Oh, I don’t think you’re the type to kill yourself,” the Doctor replied, which he thought was quite a kind thing to say in the circumstances. “Perhaps, so as to avoid my companions’ curiosity, we should conduct the rest of this exchange in your TARDIS.”

The Master nodded, and the Doctor escorted him back to the wardrobe. Once inside, he half expected the Master to turn on him, cackle madly (in a way that probably didn’t suit him) and attempt to escape, but the Master merely stroked the console in much the same way the Doctor had patted the doors of his police box.

“So, you want your body back,” he observed, beginning to finger the TARDIS dials in what the Doctor thought was quite an inappropriate manner.

Ignoring this, he pressed on with what he had come to say and do. “That’s right. I’ve been researching the situation-”

“And what if I’d rather keep it?” the Master asked, leaning over the console towards him.

“Yes, I thought you might,” the Doctor said, not mentioning that he also thought the Master was no gentleman for expressing that sort of view. “For one thing, I’m willing to give you control of this planet,” the Master scoffed, presumably he thought he could have thousands of planets if he wanted, “and for another,” the Doctor continued, “I’m fairly sure you want your TARDIS back, but I’m afraid it’s useless to you at the moment, because I’ve removed the temporal limiter and hidden it somewhere on the planet. My subjects will gladly give it back to me, or to someone who looks exactly the way I do at the moment, so you see you have no choice.”

“I could go back to your TARDIS and continue living your life,” the Master told him.

“But you won’t,” the Doctor said, “will you?”

Slowly the Master shook his head, an action that made the Doctor think about how he had to get a haircut despite the warm feeling it provoked in the Master’s blood.

“Good,” he said briskly. “Thank you.” Perhaps, he thought, as he sometimes did, the Master wasn’t so bad after all. That would make what had to happen next much less awful. “Now it turns out that by locking me in that room you inadvertently entered us both in one of this planet’s long dead rituals. Nobody has adhered to them in years because, well, because they were rather barbaric and-”

“Skip to the end,” the Master prompted.

“It was a pre-marriage ritual,” the Doctor told him, glad for the first time that he was in the Master’s body, which apparently couldn’t feel shame, “designed to make sure both partners knew each other properly before they… Knew each other. I’m afraid in order to change back we’ll have to engage in sexual intercourse. With each other.”

“I see,” the Master said.

“In the dark, of course,” the Doctor continued. “Without talking. That’s not part of the ritual, but it should make it easier to pretend it’s not…” He cleared his throat, and then realised he didn’t have anything else to say.

“Do we have to copulate in the crystal room?” the Master asked.

“No,” the Doctor said, pretending not to notice the way he had twitched at the sound of the word _copulate._

“Then follow me.” The Master led the way into the corridor and through the door that had previously led to the guest bedroom. Today it led to a completely different room, which the Doctor suspected was the Master’s own due to the attractive furniture, art works, and small chemistry set bubbling away on top of a commode. _“Lights,”_ the Master said and these obediently went off plunging them into complete darkness.

For a while the only sounds were the bubble of the Master’s experiment and the soft swish and thump of clothes being dropped to the ground, then the Doctor’s voice said, “Over here, Doctor.”

He followed it towards the bed, and sat down on its edge. Now that he had got to this point though he wasn’t sure how to proceed. Then a familiar pair of slightly calloused hands found his face and pulled him into a surprisingly tender kiss. The Doctor could feel his lips were not as full as he might have liked, but at least the Master’s beard wasn’t scratching him from this side. He let the Master push him backwards, his hands at his own slender waist.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the Master hissed, breaking the ‘no talking’ rule at the touch of leather gloves. The Doctor began to laugh as he pulled them off, and that seemed to make things better, even though he now had to touch his own skin. And how soft it was, he thought, tracing his hands along his spine in a way he knew he liked: no wonder the Master was enjoying it. The Master meanwhile bit down hard on his nipple. In his own body the Doctor would have yelped and pushed him away, but it was clear the Master found the pain incredibly arousing. He groaned as the Master twisted the same nipple cruelly between his fingers, and raked the Doctor’s fingernails down his chest. The hand that seized his erection was firm and possessive, and apparently exactly what he wanted. Meanwhile the Master’s hands were made to caress, soft touches that the Doctor knew would make him warm and tingly. He kissed any part of him that came too close, and licked his own long neck, making the Master shudder.

“Let me try something,” he whispered, and the Master seemed to agree, because he released his agonisingly good grip, and allowed the Doctor to turn him onto his front. The Doctor gave his back one long stroke, down to the cleft of his arse, and then bent to lick between his cheeks. As he swiped his tongue gently around his arsehole, he heard the Master mewl above him, a sound that turned into a breathy _“Fuck, Doctor,”_ as the Doctor began to use stronger, quicker strokes. His voice was so harsh that it sounded as though it could have come from the Master himself, and the Doctor gave him an extra deep lick for that, and began to pump his erection.

Then suddenly the Master was licking him, and it was as wonderful as the Doctor had imagined it might be on too lonely nights before he could stop himself. The Master’s beard tickled his oversensitive arse, and the Master’s tongue was inside him, and the Doctor was quite definitely whimpering, and then the Master called _“Lights!”_ and the Doctor was up and grabbing the pillow he’d recently been lying on and covering his lap.

“What was that for?”

“We’re back in our rightful bodies,” the Master pointed out. “There’s no reason to continue.”

“Right!” the Doctor said. “Yes. So we are.” He stood up, still holding the pillow over his lap, and began to walk backwards towards the door, so the Master wouldn’t be able to see his bottom. Not that the Master hadn’t already seen his bottom, a lot, but it was the principal of the thing-

“Unless you’d like to continue?” the Master offered. He was wearing a rather crazed leer that the Doctor found incredibly attractive despite himself. He thought about his principles. And then he thought about the Master’s tongue, which he was currently using to lick his lips.

“Quite frankly,” the Doctor said, coming back over the bed, “it’s the least you could do after all I’ve been through on your behalf.”

“Ruling an entire planet?” the Master asked, taking the pillow away, and stroking the Doctor’s erection gently with the back of his fingers. “How tiresome.”

“Oh, it was,” the Doctor told him, trying not to purr like a cat being petted.

“Mm, I do apologise. On your front, then, my dear.”

The Doctor lay down on the Master’s soft sheets, and let the Master lick him back to whimpering point. After a while he managed to turn his head, and saw the Master furiously stroking himself.

“You can,” the Doctor told him, “that is, if you want to you can… penetrate me. If you want.” Despite his need for blood in other places, he could feel his whole body flushing at this suggestion, but the Master seemed to think it was an entirely reasonable thing to say, and pushed at least two of the fingers of his left hand into the Doctor’s arse. “I meant with your,” the Doctor began, but really it was difficult to remember what he’d meant with the Master’s fingers curling inside him.

“All in good time,” the Master told him soothingly. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

 _“Nrrgh,”_ the Doctor said, by which he meant, “No, you’ve treated my body surprisingly well. Thank you.” And then Master withdrew his fingers, rearranged his weight, and pushed the large head of his erection slowly into the Doctor’s body. As he did so he kissed the Doctor’s back, and the Doctor reached behind himself and dug his fingers into the Master’s arse as hard as he could.

“You’re wonderful,” the Master chuckled into the Doctor’s neck, and they finished almost simultaneously.

*

“Well,” the Doctor said, some time later out in the Master’s console room. He adjusted his hat to an angle he undoubtedly thought of as ‘jauntier’. “Enjoy your planet.”

“I will,” the Master said, though really he’d decided that any system of government the Doctor had had a hand in forming would be extremely tiresome to preside over. He was already planning to escape once his TARDIS was working again, and find somewhere new to colonise. “Enjoy your renegade existence.”

The Doctor nodded quirkily, and slipped out the door. The Master stretched his own muscles, and smiled. It was a shame that he’d been forced to relinquish the Doctor’s body, but there were definite advantages to their current situation.

*

Outside, Tegan and Turlough were sitting on tiny Jawa-sized chairs, and sipping a hot drink that had recently become very popular on the planet. Strangely enough it was called “tea”, and tasted almost exactly like the beverage they were familiar with, except that it was hideously sweet.

“This isn’t so bad,” Turlough remarked. “I thought with the Master in charge it’d be a hellhole, but it isn’t. I don’t really know what we’re supposed to do. They all seem quite happy.”

“Wait for the Doctor, I guess,” Tegan said. “There must be something going on or we wouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe he just wanted to come back for the tea,” Turlough suggested.

“Maybe he’s gone mad,” Tegan said. “He’s been acting odd for ages. Maybe he just thinks this is the right planet, and really the Master’s off terrorising some other poor people who look the same.”

“They recognise us,” Turlough pointed out. “I recognise them.” He pointed at one of the Jawas. “That’s Bob, who told me where the Doctor was being held.”

“All right,” Tegan said huffily, “you think of something.”

At that moment the Doctor wandered into the room, his hat at a jaunty angle that belied his rather bemused expression.

“Doctor!” Tegan called. “We’re over here.”

The Doctor looked up at the sound, and then turned on his heel and walked out again in the direction he’d come from.

“OK,” Turlough said. “You’re right, he is mad.”

*

“I forgot,” the Doctor explained as he let himself back into the Master’s TARDIS with a copy of the Master’s key he had made during the last month, “that I’m still quite angry with you.”

The Master looked up from the console, which he had been examining for signs of the Doctor’s meddling (none so far, except the missing component). “Are you?” he enquired.

“Very angry,” the Doctor said, but he didn’t look very angry. In fact, he had already removed his coat, and was currently tugging his jumper up over his head.

“Oh dear,” the Master said, pulling him to the floor. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

 _“Nrrgh,”_ the Doctor said, which could have meant anything.


End file.
